


In my heart forsaken me

by vogue91



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Introspection, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 14:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: He thought about Yuya looking for pretexts to fight. He thought about his silences and the way he ignored him for days. He thought about his behaviour, so fake when he was with him, and all the pieces went together, showing as a result the elder telling him it was over, that he was going to give Hikaru another chance.





	In my heart forsaken me

 

He lit up the cigarette, breathing in deeply.

He had never been a fan of the taste, but he had kept smoking, learning in time to appreciate the feeling it gave him.

He liked to bring the filter to his lips, he liked to let the smoke out slowly, creating imaginary shapes, amusing himself in trying to find something real in those contours, never managing to do just that.

He had learned to like the smell too, in time.

That smell on his clothes, his hair, his skin.

On the walls, every time he and Yuya had sex, reminding him it had actually happened whenever he went to bed alone.

Yuri still smoked, he still smelled that scent on the sheets, but it didn’t feel quite the same as a few months before.

It wasn’t Yuya’s smell, just that of his own defeat.

He wanted to call him, even though it was a bit late to do so.

What would've been the point, anyway?

Call him to tell him he wanted him back, call him to tell him that he was nothing without him, call him to sell him his dignity like dozens of times he had done in the past... what good would've that been, but make him feel even worse than he did now?

He felt a tear slowly fall down his face, and he kept smoking.

Sitting on the bed in his room, he looked around.

He looked at the window, the bathroom door, he looked at the scissors abandoned on the desk.

And he felt scared at himself and his own mind, which was showing him every possible scenario where he could finally leave his pathetic and worthless existence behind.

Yuri wished he was brave or coward enough to actually do it, but he knew he wasn’t one to commit suicide.

He would've liked that, though.

He had caressed the idea so many times that he didn’t know what was still keeping him from doing it. He had thought about it when Yuya had left that very same room and had never come back, he had thought about it the following weeks, when the elder had started avoiding him.

He had thought about it when he had seen him happy, and not because of Yuri.

What was keeping him, then?

He took another deep hit off the cigarette, and the scarce tears turned into a flood.

He had pretended so good, during the years.

He had pretended to be better than he actually was, he had pretended to be strong when he had always been weak, he had pretended he could keep his head high, when he had never hesitated lowering it for who asked, selling out his own happiness, deciding he didn’t care enough about himself to give it the right value.

He had repeated so many times he was okay to whomever asked that he had hoped he was going to convince himself as well, but the only result he had gotten had been to lose the faculty to say he wasn’t okay, holing himself up inside those walls, making him feel like he was about to suffocate. Making him wish he could.

He didn’t want to feel like this anymore.

He wanted to ask for help to someone who was going to grant him that, but every time he had grabbed the phone to do so he had always gave up.

He didn’t want to talk about it, because until it was just in his mind, the pain wasn’t real.

There was only one thing which would've made him feel good, and it had been denied to him.

He closed his eyes, trying to recall the feeling.

He searched with all his might to reproduce the feeling of being in Yuya’s arms, being wrapped in his body’s warmth, hearing his deep voice murmuring in his ear he loved him.

But there was only silence inside that room and inside of him, so he gave up trying to recall such a well-told lie.

Yuya had never really loved him.

He had been a nice pastime, a way to overcome the end of a story which had hurt hi, someone to be with him and stand his mood swings and his excessive reactions.

Someone that Hikaru hadn't been able to be for him, who Yuri embodied perfectly.

He brushed a hand through his hair, pulling on them, hurting himself.

Yuya had never searched for someone to love in him, but for someone to love him.

And Yuri had done that, he had done that with all himself, and after that love there was nothing left worth to save in him.

He bit his tongue to the point of making it bleed, clawing his palms while he crushed the stub in the ashtray.

He had liked that too, back then.

It was when Yuya laid down next to him, when he held him close, when they fell asleep together and together they played the happy couple, the one which had never truly existed, but that had been so convincing that Chinen too had been tricked.

He stood up, grabbing the scissors from the desk and heading to the bathroom, in a rush which he hoped was going to last enough to allow him to end it once and for all.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and he felt nauseated.

That face disgusted him, those tears did, those features which had long since lost the softness of his childhood, twisting, making him feel a waste.

He brought the scissors close to his arm, to his much too white skin, his hand trembling and a voice in his head telling him to do it, to get rid of the pain he had undergone, to forget Yuya and his whole existence.

To feel good, finally.

He let them go, and they fell heavily inside the sink.

He breathed in deeply, panicking, bringing his hands to his face and scratching it times and times again, until he was sure the fingernails had left a mark.

The next day, because there was going to be one, he was going to say it had been an accident to anyone interested enough to ask.

He would've said he was scratching and he had hurt himself. He was going to say anything necessary to ease their minds, because it was how it was supposed to be, because no matter how bad he wanted to lash out what he had inside, he still hadn't found a way to do so.

He went back to the bedroom, desolate.

He lit up yet another cigarette, he had lost count for the night, and he stared at the blank wall in front of him.

He thought. Always, restless, he thought about what had happened.

He thought about Yuya looking for pretexts to fight. He thought about his silences and the way he ignored him for days. He thought about his behaviour, so fake when he was with him, and all the pieces went together, showing as a result the elder telling him it was over, that he was going to give Hikaru another chance.

That he had deluded himself into thinking he could love him.

Yuri thought about those words again, and in the end he understood why he couldn’t hurt himself.

There was nothing left to kill in him that hadn't already been shredded and destroyed by Yuya’s words.

All he had felt up until then was dead, and seeing it dying he had deemed it lost forever, because there was no way he was going to put back together the pieces Yuya had left behind, not giving a damn about him and what he had done, as if leaving him and telling him he didn’t care of him was enough to relieve him from any responsibility.

He crushed the cigarette, and when he was about to take another one he realized he had run out.

He sighed.

He wasn’t going to buy another one, he didn’t want to smoke anymore, he didn’t feel an actual need for it.

He was never going to, but he liked the way it reminded him of Yuya.

The next day he was going to see all the others and he was going to wear his best smile, saying he was fine, because that’s what was expected from him.

Because they didn’t expect him to yell, to cry, to say he wanted to die.

To show them that Chinen Yuri was nothing, that he had given everything for Yuya to play with, that he had sold him his dignity and his pride, because keeping them and being alone would've been of no use.

And now he had no dignity and no Yuya, and only the smell of smoke to connect him to a past that was fading.

He closed his eyes, licking the tears gathered at the corners of his mouth, licking the shores of sleep, sure that it was going to come, and that he wasn’t going to sleep anyway.

Yuri was scared of falling asleep, aware that doing so would've meant having to wake up again, and again pity himself for having to face another day identical to the one before.

But in the end he caved.

Cradled by the smell of the smoke and the sound of his own sobs, he finally fell asleep.

Alone.


End file.
